With these Hands of Mine
by Kornblume Cavalier
Summary: Fantasy and SupernaturalAU, five different people, two fragments of a soul, six holy seals and the lost memories of a long forgotten past. Will our main characters manage to unite a kingdom torn apart by war? But with death and sacrifice littering the path they take, can they succeed? First fanfic, Prussia centric. Rating may go up depending on the chapters. (Changed Summary)
1. Prologue

**I do not own Hetalia nor the characters. **

**Prologue:**

_"If you were granted the life of a human...what would be the three things You wish to fulfil at that time?"_

_"...if at all possible, I'd like to protect the things I hold dear with these hands of mine"  
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In an age and time so long ago, in a distant land so similar and yet so different to our own-two princes were born to a kingdom that had ruled peacefully for over a millennium. The holy bishop and witnesses there pronounced the two infants twins. Yet as they grew up, they looked so different, many could barely believe that they were related at first glance-the elder, Gilbert, had silvery white hair and bright ruby eyes that burned with a inner crimson flame. By contrast, the younger was an ordinary child with cool cerulean blue eyes and soft golden hair like the gentle rays of the sun after a storm; just like his parents.

But the difference did not just end in terms of appearance; the young albino lord had the gift of being able to wield the threads of darkness-enabling him to manipulate anything that he wanted with a flick of his hand.

To the majority of the citizens, they believed that the two princes lived happily and worked together to rule the land; they could not have been more wrong...

The Queen hated Gilbert with a passion that matched the blazing fires of hell which she kept hidden so well, not even the king or the younger prince whom she was closest to knew of the hate she had in her heart.

Gilbert knew; if it was not obvious from the scrapes and bruises thay he always tried to hide due to 'constant warfare' or 'settling some uprising in a far corner of the kingdom', it was obvious from the occasional forcing of his head into a deep barrel of water till he almost drowned or asphyxiated-sometimes to the point where he forgot his own name.

Unsure of whom he could trust, he attempted to write down his thoughts and seal them away where no one could find them. He had never confided his thoughts or feelings to anyone as he did not want to burden others around him; furthermore, it concerned the Queen he called 'mother'. However, as fate would have it...all secrets are revealed and exposed eventually-its just a matter of time. The Queen caught wind of the secret journals he would write and read them.

Furious, she brought it all out to the king and the younger prince; claiming that Gilbert was nothing but a spoiled brat who knew nothing of respect or how fortunate he was. That and to prevent his behaviour from becoming worse, he had to be punished harshly.

The poor child suffered for his 'act' of course; the next morning, he could barely move from the infirmary bed- whipped till he passed out, he found it a miracle that he was even able to breathe normally. But he had to leave: not for himself, he was much too loyal and noble to the kingdom to do so. The reason was that along the outskirts of the region, Shaddarin wraiths had attacked; urgent and dire reports had been coming in, and the situation was dire.

In the end, he struggled and managed to make his way to the encampment where his men were, and the threat was driven off successfully. Despite the victory, the cost of winning the skirmish took its toll on Gilbert-he had lost more than half his loyal men as they had fallen prey to the minions of death.

Torn with grief inside his heart at having to not just watch his friends and close companions who had followed him to battle many times; some of them from the day he mastered the sword-what sickened him was that they could not bring any of the bodies back for an honorary burial. The corpses had to be destroyed or cremated and their ashes scattered; in a week, those tainted by the wraiths or had their souls consumed would have their physical form taken and used as an empty shell to sow misery and plague.

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Gilbert returned with a heart ladened with sorrow and despair that he kept locked away. Feeling that he might just snap from the overwhelming weight on his shoulders and chest, he sought for some way to release his bottled emotions. Yet if he did so...the only thing he could bring about was more pain and suffering to others around him.

Then...before he could realise when the habit started, he began to create puppets-inanimate dolls to be sure, but they were so lifelike, they could have been human. Storing his pain and darker memories in them, it appeared as if they were the ones who had walked his life and experienced all that he had. When asked by his personal aide why did he create such marionettes, all he answered was;

"Father has to take care of the Kingdom. Brother has mother...so I'll create my own companions. And I will love them...maybe someday they will come to love me back..."

**A/N. Hallo! This is my first Hetalia fanfiction and here's the prologue to my story, 'With these hands of mine'. I do hope that you will enjoy it and I do appreciate any criticism that can make this piece better. Do drop a review or PM, and I'll try my best to get to you soon. Until then, auf wiedersehen! **

**Some terms/notes: Shaddarin Wraiths are basically something like vengeful spirits who died before their time when they were human. Since they refuse to rest in peace, they wander around and try to take possession of a physical form- by consuming the souls of others.**

**Characters (in this chapter): Elder Prince-Prussia(Gilbert)**

** Younger Prince-Holy Roman Empire(Gerwig)**


	2. Kapitel 1:The Beginning of an End (1)

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters. **

**Kapitel 1: The Beginning of an End.(Part I)**

_When the child woke up, his eyes registered nothing but the pure black of night around him. There was pain; an echo of it somewhere on his body – hands, feet, chest, back…his head was pounding, making the whole scene surreal like a dream, or an illusion conjured up by his exhausted mind. 'Where is everybody? What is going on?' he wondered hazily, confused and frightened._

_Then, a bright flash of light filled his vision, followed by a searing heat that shot up through his nerves without warning, forcing his back to arch in agony as a long scream of pain tore through his small lips. Something hot and solid had been pressed into his lower back, close to the spine. The flesh there burned and hissed, sending spasms of pain that racked his small frame. Fresh tears prickled his eyes and spilled down in trails along his pale cheeks. Yet, they felt cool against his skin; so high was the temperature that threatened to tear his mind apart._

'_F…Father...H …Help! Make this stop…!' He shrieked in his mind, the words trapped in his throat. The torment that flooded his nerve-shocked state made it almost impossible to articulate anything beyond a wailing cry of pain each time he opened his mouth. A sickly, sweet smell drifted to his nose, and a wave of nausea hit his stomach. His fists were clenched into tight balls, relaxing only when the pressure on his back left. The last thing the child remembered before falling deep into oblivion was the sting of cold air, piercing the wound like a thousand needles stuck into raw muscle._

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Gilbert jolted from the soft bed, burgundy eyes wide and glazed with horror and panic. Breathing in quick, shallow breaths, his heart thudded against his chest so hard, for a moment he believed that he would wind up in the infirmary for having broken ribs—not that he had never went to the place for such injury, but recovering from them was not awesome to say the least. Furthermore, the doctor was tired of having him as a patient; "If I see you here one more time, Lord Gilbert, I am going to demand a pay raise."

Sweat dripped from his brow, staining the sheets and causing his nightclothes to cling to his body like a second skin; blinking away his fatigue, he calmed down once his vision cleared; he was in his own room, not some dark prison like in his nightmare.

'That dream again…' he sighed, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly; he rubbed his temples, the dreadful pounding slowing to a mild throb before disappearing entirely. A soft yet firm knock from behind the door made him turn his head sharply, a broadsword unsheathed and ready to defend himself. He had too many experiences of brave but foolish enemy soldiers attempting to assassinate him in the dead of night when he was out at the field. However, after the door opened to reveal his long time childhood friend and aide, Markus, he realized that his fears were unfounded. He was back home in the capital, not out at camp where he was open to attack; there was not much need to worry about any intruder barging into his room any time soon…

Unless he counted the Queen who had came in and saw his journals, resulting in a lashing that he would not forget easily.

"What do you want Mark? Is there something that the Awesome me forgot or should watch out for?" Gilbert quipped, a grin spreading across his face as he put away the blade.

Markus looked at his friend carefully with a concerned eye; he could tell that something was bothering the youth and it was heartrending at times to see the young prince hide his feelings behind a smiling façade. "There is nothing much today, however, I'd advise that you dress yourself up well…" a pause, then with a cheerful expression, "it is after all, the ceremony for both yours and Gerwig's coming of age…"

Freezing in his action of stretching languidly, Gilbert glared at his aide—he had clean forgotten about the ceremony and could not believe that his helper; no, _friend_ only reminded him about it on the day itself. "Schieße…Mark…" He muttered, a fuming glare thrown to the man, he twitched as he felt the thin black threads of darkness branch from his hands; a sign of extreme frustration and whirl of negative emotions taking over the usually carefree and rational side of the youth.

The steward shook his head, unfazed by the twisting black fibres erupting from the pale hands. "No need to fret, young master—there's still adequate time for you to make yourself presentable; why else do you think after all my years here, I am assigned to work with you?"

Gilbert had to bite his tongue in order to not release the string of extremely colourful curses he had in mind to yell at his serene friend. Forcing a polite smile that was more of a smirk that said: 'consider yourself lucky that we are friends' and 'the awesomeness that is me will deal with you later', "Don't just stand there, Mark. You know how the awesome me works." He scowled, rushing off to the bathroom to freshen himself.

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If there was one thing that Gilbert hated most about festivities, it was that he had to stay still whilst the main proceedings took place in a uniform that was much too stuffy for his liking. He much preferred to don on his military attire, the design simple, but elegant and practical. Meanwhile, his younger brother appeared to be in his element—standing ramrod straight, eyes level and impassive, mouth pressed together in a thin line—the epitome of a perfect leader attending a formal ceremony. Truth to be told, Gilbert often wondered if his sibling had any other expression other than the deadpan one he was showing.

"This is taking too long for my liking," the albino lord complained under his breath, his eyebrows twitching in the urge to frown whilst maintaining a stoic public face.

His feet were becoming numb from standing in the same position for over and hour now, and he really wanted to leave the place. Not from the dullness of the situation—though admittedly, he was close to shedding tears of boredom (not that he would ever admit it as crying for any reason at all was NOT awesome)… it was because, the event was taking a dangerous turn for him…

The Queen.

His mother who hated him so much…

Was going to make a speech regarding the next successor of the kingdom.

Gilbert cared not for the throne; he knew that compared with Gerwig, the younger was a better ruler than he was—the albino prince was raised to wield the sword as a weapon, the other was taught and nurtured to use the pen and words to change and mould the future. And he was perfectly fine with that.

The problem was, the last conflict between the Shaddarin wraiths had been costly; many had lost something or someone in that skirmish—for some, their lovers. Others, their husbands, brothers or sons. But they all had one thing in common…

They wanted a scapegoat; a lamb to the slaughter to blame for the misery that befallen upon them. Who better than the one who had the soldiers into battle himself?

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Gerwig remained silent whilst the citizens cheered and clapped, the scene one of joy and celebration. However, deep inside in his heart and mind, he knew better than to be one with the crowd-the people had rejected Gilbert to be their leader, in spite of the sweat and blood his elder brother had put into ensuring the safety of the kingdoms borders. Rage seethed through him at the injustice, yet at the same time, he felt proud and relieved that he was not going to suffer the fate of princes that had failed to claim the crown:

Gilbert was living on borrowed time-before long, people would want to have him killed; mostly the citizens due to the age old fear that having another prince could lead to dissent amongst some and cause a major conflict. Tearing apart the carefully constructed peace which had lasted for years; furthermore, the albino had strong ties with the military-who was to say that he would not stage an uprising?

Turning to face his elder twin, he was shocked to see the elder taking it all in stride, a sincere smile stretched across the alabaster white lips. "Well, Gerwig...congratulations! The awesome me always knew that you'd be the natural sucessor to the throne!" Gilbert patted his back and proceeded to ruffle his hair, making the neatly combed gold strands a mess.

'Bruder...do you not know what this means? How can you still remain so calm...? Do you not fear death?' The younger prince wondered, piercing blue eyes downcast and confused.

He could not comprehend his sibling's calmness about the situation-even he was worried for the albino's sake; how much time did he have left before being forced to leave and have his name fade away to the unforgiving ages of time as one of the many countless specks on this earth? It wasn't fair, not in the least.

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'So this is how it ends then...kesesese...there's no point fearing the outcome now, this was pretty much expected anyway. At least I'm allowed to know that my kleiner bruder will be safe and sound...' Gilbert mused, allowing a grin to take over the small smile he already had plastered to his face. "Let's go enjoy the other festivities! The awesome me is bored!" Pulling Gerwig along with him, he disappeared into the crowd, not letting his sibling see the wet streaks that had cut across his cheeks.

To Gilbert, there was nothing else he could have requested for other than his sibling to live happily. At least he did not have to suffer the disdainful looks of the people brought about by his appearance-he'd heard the whispers that were always hissed softly, the voices hushed and full of fear and loathing: pale complexion and white hair of an angel; the eyes of the devil himself, red as the blood he spilled on the battlefield and stained his hands. The albino once swore to his aide, he _could feel_ the hatred radiating from them like an unspoken message that his own citizens wanted him dead and were disappointed that the last war did not manage to kill him.

'Gott...bitte...' Gilbert prayed silently, 'please watch over mein kleiner bruder when I'm no longer around to do so...'

Even now, amid the colour and music, still Gilbert felt the animosity aimed him-to which he returned them with a wide smirk of: 'I am awesome and you know it' or a simple cackle as he pushed through the crowd of citizens dancing, laughing, drinking-some of them having a game of sorts whilst some of them chattered- ignoring the glares and affronted looks shot towards him.

A twinge in his heart made him stop in his tracks. Placing a clenched fist over his heart, his eyes widened and fear flashed in his scarlet orbs; something was very wrong-someone, or some other being was messing with the ties he had with his puppets. Gilbert barely registered Gerwig's concerned and worried voice; heaving and gasping for breath, he wondered in the haze of his mind who could have toyed with the threads binding him to his creations. He never heard his brother's frantic call for help as black overcame his vision and his knees buckled to the ground.

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Meanwhile; not too far away from where the brothers were, a scream rent the air, the sound of pure horror. a crowd converged at the place where the cry came from. Gasps of terror were let out and panic filled the atmosphere like a place doused with oil; a perfect setting for the sparks of chaos to burst into flame and drown the land into depths of darkness.

There, lying on the ground in a pool of spreading dark crimson and her heart muiltilated till it resembled a rose in full bloom...was the Queen. Beside her corpse, laid the shattered remains of a puppet, a knife held in its hand whilst a black, oil like substance leaked from the ruined dolls eyes, nose and mouth.

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**A/N. And thus, here's the official start of Kapitel 1. :D I'd like to thank several awesome people here, so first off; Duelkatana, a very close friend of mine for encouraging('coercing') me to try publishing my work *runs and hides*, next, kindofanoxymoron and Become one yes for the additional push and advice.**

**Last but not least, Alaina Rayne for being so kind as to be my beta reader*grins* and helping me ensure that whatever I put up is done to my best ability so as to do the story justice.*kesesesese***

**That said, I do hope that you've enjoyed reading this and do leave a review! I'll be happy to know if there's anything that can be done to improve this or that you've just enjoyed reading it! Until then, Auf wiedersehen!**

**Characters in this chapter: Gilbert (Prussia), Gerwig (HRE), **

** Markus;'Mark'(Brandenburg)**


	3. Kapitel 2: The Beginning of an End (2)

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

**Kapitel 2: The Beginning of an End. (Part II)**

_A young child giggled without a care in the world; small feet pattering along the cobbled road, he paid no heed to the warnings of the clergyman walking behind him. The bishop had always fussed over him till the point that the curious and vivacious boy felt that he would burst and scream, wanting nothing to do with decorum or the stiff rules that only he had to adhere to whilst others his age were free to run around. Today was the first day after almost an entire months worth of staying cooped within the sanctuaries grounds._

"_Come and catch me, Father!" the boy yelled, his breath coming out in small puffs of mist; round face shining with unbridled joy and childish amusement as he turned back to face the holy man, not stopping in his tracks at all._

_The bishop gave the child a gentle smile, "My dear child, you're still young…Father is old, and—BE CAREFUL!" Hurrying over to where the toddler had tripped, the cleric proceeded to check the child for any injury. "Gilbert, do behave yourself before you make me age before my time." The elder chided, voice reprimanding but still carrying a gentle undertone._

_Gilbert's lower lip quivered and his eyes were wide with hurt;sullen and downcast; it was always him—the troublemaker that made people worried, the one who to many would never match up to his kleiner bruder or be the perfect child everyone expected him to be. "Entschuldigung," he muttered softly, under his breath._

_Observing the little boy before him, Bishop Friedrich patted the child's head softly, "Gilbert, it was an accident. Just try to be more careful next time, alight? " Wide, round eyes looked up into the aged grey-blue hues, and a nod was the reply he received. Satisfied, he held the child's hand and walked with him, journeying into a vast open plain._

_"Gilbert, do you ever feel lonely?"_

_" Even though Vater is often busy and bruder doesn't play with me, I don't feel lonely at all, Father! I've got you for company!"_

_"...Gilbert...thank you for being born..."_

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_**"Die…"**_

_**Everything is so dark…Father, where are you? Did I do something wrong? Or was I such a burden that you had left too? Someone…Hilfe Mir!**_

_**"Cursed child of the devil…"**_

_**F…Father…it hurts…why? What is this fire I feel on my back? Please…make this pain go away...**_

_**"You should NEVER have come into this world."**_

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Stirring, the migraine in his head and throbbing pain in his chest told Gilbert that he was still alive; nobody who was dead would be able to hurt this much. He blinked, attempting to take stock of his surroundings; all he remembered was that he and Gerwig were at the festivities held in their honor, or more of the latter's honor actually—nobody wanted the one whose name was tied to war and death. The soft jingle of metal above him added confusion to his already befuddled mind and he raised his head to look up-his hands had been shackled to the wall, and whilst he did not feel the dull ache that came with being held to the wall in that position yet, he anticipated it coming soon; he could no longer feel his fingers due to the lack of proper circulation.

"Heh…so throwing the awesome me half dazed into the dungeons was not enough, eh?" He snorted to himself, pulling weakly against his bindings. Gilbert forced a smile onto his face; determined to not break in spite of the situation. Fate had always been biased against him; and in any case, this would have come sooner or later in the long run. If there was anything that he found amusing about precadiment, it was that the people were so eager to have him dead: it was just right after his mother's declaration as well! 'Kesesese, I'm just too awesome for this world to handle thats why,' he mused quietly, the thought making the curve of his lips wider.

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Gerwig was furious.

The normally impassive and indifferent youth was seething, his rage threatening to bubble over and scald someone. He smashed his fist into the wall, ignoring the purple-black blossoming across his white knuckles. 'What in Himmel is going on?!How could those ignorant Paladin Guards just drag Gilbert away-he may not be the crown prince, but Gilbert is still one of the Heads of the military!' The blond growled, still pounding the wall even though rivulets of red were criss-crossing his skin.

Red...

The colour of his brother's eyes, that held life, warmth and mirth to Gerwig; but repulsed the people of the Kingdom who saw them as unholy and steeped with evil.

"Taking your anger on the wall is not going to solve anything, I believed that you were always better than Gilbert in that sense; staying calm and thinking of a plan to solve the issue. It appears that it is the other way around then"

Whipping his head to face the speaker, Gerwig was ready to give a tongue lashing that would have made a sailor cringe when he saw who the person was. Observing him was Markus; the man's eyes river blue hues were soft, but like the ocean, held the power to captivate and instil fear. The blond felt the muscles of his face relax and he looked down, feeling like a small child caught in the act of throwing a violent tantrum for a toy whilst his parents were away.

Technically speaking, it was true;his Vater was trying to mop up the political mess and his mother was dead…murdered by his brother- so said the rumours which had spread like wildfire.

"What is it, Mark? I don't want to hear another one of your 'keep calm and carry on' words of encouragement." Gerwig muttered, burying his face into his hands as he sunk into an ornate chair next to him. He did not believe any of the gossip-true, Gilbert could manipulate objects and the albino had created the dolls and puppets, but to murder someone-it was just out of the world. As far as Gerwig knew, his twin was extremely protective and sensitive about the marionettes he made; to be frank, Gilbert talked to them and treated them like living beings with a soul.

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The steward raised an eyebrow, mildly entertained by Gerwig's words."On the contrary, I've come to tell you that Gilbert is in danger-from someone and himself." He watched as the younger prince looked up, a frown twisting over the latter's face. "The protective seal on his puppets were broken;" Markus began, the tone of his voice took on a serious turn,"and the memories he stored in them gave the dolls a basic form of consciousness. A particularly dangerous memory resulted in the 'incident'...so in a sense, Gilbert did murder the Queen." He paused, watching Gerwig's reaction carefully before continuing.

Markus had known the twins for a long time; he was introduced to Gilbert who was three years his junior, the red-eyed child had refused to speak or do anything other than lie in bed after his disappearance for two years. All the doctors and physicians had given up on the albino, and as a last resort, a youth was asked to try and see if he could get the child to at least show signs of acknowledging the speaker when talked to. Now, most just wanted Gilbert to keep quiet than make any noise.

However, what puzzled Markus the most was; when he had asked the albino lord what had happened in those two years, the only answer he received was:

"I…I can't…I don't remember anything at all."

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Meanwhile, deep inside the dungeons; head bowed and chin bouncing off his chest, Gilbert continued to struggle against the shackles in spite of his wrists protesting heavily to the activity. 'And to think being whipped senseless was bad enough.' He wondered, keeping his left eye shut in order to prevent blood from a cut above the said eye from obscuring his vision. The front of his clothes had been torn, exposing his chest and torso-if his pale skin had been a white canvas, then a mad artist had painted streaks of red and later thrown in splotches of purple, blue and yellow-which showed off a network of gashes and angry welts; all of which still bleeding profusely, mixed with bruises all over.

The excruciating shriek along his ribs told him that something there had been broken; but he did not need the pang of white-hot agony to inform him-the harsh, wet coughs that accompanied him in the cell made sure of it as he rasped for breath painfully. His knees whined from having to support his full body weight, and he wished to be released from the metal restraining him. But most of all, he wanted to know why was he held in a cell and why was he constantly demanded to confess; he had done nothing wrong, so why should he confess?

A low creak jolted him out his dazed state, but he did not raise his head. Who else should he expect to have for company in his cell other than the warden? The a faint swish of liquid in a bottle filled Gilbert's ears, followed by a dull scrape of wood being dragged against the stone ground-a baton, which had made its mark on several parts of the albino's skin. He ignored the voice that called out to him and instead allowed his good eye to roam to the corner of the cage he was in. A second slosh reached his ears; another sip had been taken by the inebriated gaoler, the vile smell of alcohol burning into Gilbert's senses."Get out of my sight, worm." The albino growled, teeth gritted together and mouth pulled into an ugly snarl as he glowered.

"It seems that you have an issue with showing respect, _prince Gilbert,_" the man mocked, using the rod he held to force the abilno's head upwards.

Gilbert smirked;jerking his face away, he spat a gob of blood and saliva at the warden's feet. Not more than a few seconds later, something hard and cold was smashed into his face; the object shattering upon impact and liquid cascaded over him together with glass. Shards of the material embedded themselves into his skin, sticking out at angles and crimson seeped out of the small cuts; all of them sending stings to his nerves that were overloaded with pain. The drink splashed in a cold wave;clamping his uninjured eye shut by instinct, some of the liquid wormed its way through the corners and stung, but what made him reveal that he was not as strong as he seemed was when he released a hiss of pain-most of the alcohol-based liquid had drenched his chest and torso, sending more waves of agony to his nerves which exploded in his brain like fireworks on the Kingdom's founding day. Breathing laboured and shallow, his chest heaved as he swallowed the torment flooding his body; he was going to deny his torturer the pleasure of hearing him scream or beg, to do so was to surrender. And surrender was not an option-it never had been for the battle-hardened albino.

"Y…you…will have to…do better than that…" Gilbert hacked halfway into his sentence; fresh, warm blood dripping from his dry lips and splattering to the ground,"…if you want…" another shuddering cough,"to hear…my awesome cries…" Grinning maniacally, his ruby eyes were lit with a mad light as he looked at the gaoler.

There was a snort and the albino heard a crack-it took a while for the latter to realise where it came from, it sounded so distant, he almost believed that it was from someone else before it dawned on him that the baton had been smashed into his ribs. More bright crimson rose up his throat and poured out his mouth, joining the congealed dark splatters on the ground like some sick painting. Fists clenched tight whilst the beating continued, Gilbert fought to remain conscious and refused to let out a squeak-he was going to keep a stiff upper lip and endure the humiliation. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be when he was executed for the world to see. Not in a cold cell, like some common prisoner.

Then, stars danced before his vision and his migraine skyrocketed, blowing him into darkness like a snuffed out candle.

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**A/N. And so...please don't murder me or post flames.(Even though I regret noth-actually I do...) In any case, leave a review!**

**Characters involved: The usual few. With the addition of Friedrich II/Old Fritz as 'Father'**


	4. Kapitel 3: The Beginning of An End (3)

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

**Kapitel 3: The Beginning of an End. (Part III)**

_Gilbert was confused; Father Friedrich had barely spoken a word to him throughout the day and when he asked, the only reply he received was a smile laced with silent sadness and grief. The child wandered along the marble corridor of the eerily deserted sanctuary, pondering hard to himself. When his legs grew tired of the pacing, he leaned against a wall and he eyes caught sight of a tapestry; it was a depiction of how the world came to be, a tale mostly told as a bedtime story to the children living on the hallowed grounds of the Church._

_"Gilbert? What are you doing here? Its past your rest time."_

_The small albino turned his head to the left of the corridor and saw the bishop-the elder's face now more lined and exhausted-looking than the last time he saw him. For a moment, everything seemed to stand still; even time appeared to have froze as well, as fiery red looked into watery grey-blue. Then, the child ran and leapt into the cleric, trying to hug the older man the best he could with his small arms. Liquid fire ran in streams, burning Gilbert's cheeks; he wished that Father could go back to his old self, the same Father who would talk and play with him when he was lonely. Not the one before him now, fatigued and sad all the time._

_Bishop Friedrich felt his eyes widen as Gilbert held him, the boy's body shaking like a leaf as he sobbed. He could make out the faint, muffled apologies the child spoke as the latter hiccuped and cried; the action making his heart clench and crumble inside. But what hurt the most was when the child sputtered amidst the tears was:_

**_"I should never have been born."_**

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Right eye fluttering weakly; showing off the bruise it now sported, Gilbert found himself lying on the dirt ground-his throbbing,swollen wrists free from the shackles that restrained him previously. 'I wonder what has happened up there that allowed me this stroke of fortune...' The albino lord mused, before launching into a fierce coughing fit that robbed air from his lungs. Pulling away his hand which he had used to cover his mouth, he did not bother to look at it-he already knew what was the sticky, slick warmth that coated his palm.

"Well," he chuckled lightly; ignoring the agony that came with it,"it seems that the awesome me has my answer after all...I'm obviously not going to last, may as well arrange my execution date now..." A ghost of a smirk tugged at his dry, cracked lips; the demented look on his face further enhanced by the scarlet of his eyes.

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There were few times when Markus showed his nervousness or anxiety-he was known for being calm and rational even in the most trying situations; a trait which left many puzzled and commenting that it was impossible to unsettle the steward. Unfortunately, the main cause that made him as such was; he was always worried and anxious, for a simple reason: Gilbert. The only three times he visibly balked or showed his worry was; One, when the albino lord decided that it would be highly amusing to play an embarrassing prank on Gerwig's aide, Wilhelm. It was not the prank that made Markus fear for Gilbert's sake-the trick had been fairly harmless as compared to what he had seen the young prince do to a certain group of brash paladins who had insulted his appearance, it was that Wilhelm was not one to forgive or forget easily; that and the man had always viewed the albino as a "narcissistic, annoying pest who was a warmonger". Next, Gilbert had recklessly entered the thick of battle with only his broadsword and no other company of soldiers. Although he later learned that it was one of the many marionettes that the albino had made and the move was to lure the enemy-Markus never really pardoned his charge for the terror and near heart attack at seeing an enemy soldier cleave 'Gilbert' into two. The final one however, was when the albino lord was training; as the youth could manipulate the threads of darkness, he tried to create a new style of duelling and swordsmanship in order for him to fight with both his weapon and skill.

That day, Markus witnessed what the people meant by a 'demon in battle'-and he hoped never to encounter it again. He had nearly lost his head trying to snap Gilbert out of that state of mind; the crimson irises that sparkled with mischief were darkened with pure, mindless rage and hate.

Truth was, if the poor steward did not have to constantly fret over the albino; Markus would have looked much younger than he was now, at one glance, most assumed that he was at least three decades old-when he was half a decade short of that figure.'If all goes as planned,'Markus thought; the cogs in his mind turning like a clock running smoothly,'I should be able to get young master out without much trouble.' The issue at hand however, was Wilhelm-who presided over the sector of law and order together with Gerwig.

"The question is, how are we going to get that insufferable piece of arsch to let me in?" He muttered, unaware of the pair of hard, stone-grey eyes that watched him from the shadows behind him.

"Plotting something now, are we? You were never one to be read easily, Markus."

Said servant almost dropped the bundle he held in his hands; turning to face the speaker, he forced a polite smile as he faced Wilhelm, the dark haired man who stood at his doorway-arms folded across his chest and a smug, derisive look on his face.'As if he owns the place…this is my room, who does he think he is?' Markus grumbled, eyes slightly narrowed in irritation.

No wonder Gilbert placed puppets to guard his room after the whipping incident; since they had a small fragment of the albino lord's soul, some traits were shared with the dolls-one of which,the ability to wield weapons fluidly. The issue was; despite being so close to be considered human, the puppets had no soul or emotion. Once triggered, they would stop at nothing till the threat was taken care of. How did Markus know of this: Gerwig had been the unfortunate soul to experience three, very lethal and 'angered' marionettes chasing him out of Gilbert's room. Only stopping when their creator saw his brother streaking down the hallway, screaming blue murder and cursing the albino for coming up with dangerous machinations to keep intruders and non-intruders out.

"What do you want, Wilhelm."

"Nothing…" the man drawled, then with a raised eyebrow,"but I thought that you should know that his 'Awesomeness' is to be executed tomorrow; once the first rays of the sun break through the clouds, he will be sent to the gates of Seele."

Fists clenched, Markus found it a wonder that he still had his courteous facade on; he was ready to deliver a blow to Wilhelm's jaw-wanting to feel the bone shatter and break with his fist."Well…thank you for telling me this…" He answered, flashing a grin that Gilbert would have called, 'do kindly fick off before I fick you senseless into the bed'. Whilst in his mind, he felt panic cloud his thoughts; there was not much time left, he would have to act fast if he wanted to save Gilbert from the executioner's blade. "Desperate times call for new improvisations, eh?" He chuckled,"never thought that it would one day apply to you, young master…"

He had no regrets about what he was about to do; besides, what was life without having to worry about a certain albino lord creating havoc and bringing light into his mundane existence?

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Lying against the wall, Gilbert allowed his head to lean against the hard, brick surface; he was so tired, any form of movement-big or small only further exhausted his mind. His face had a new gash on it, starting from his forehead, it cut across his right eye and ended at his cheek. He felt no pain strangely; all he sensed was the cold air of the dungeons against his exposed skin-even his wounds stopped their raucous choir long ago. Either his nerves had finally shorted from the overwhelming load of agony that coursed through them, or he was so far gone, he no could feel no stimuli at all.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

The albino exhaled, wincing as his ribs twinged, briefly aware that something was trickling from the corner of his dry, cracked lips. He could not open his eyes; gummed shut by congealed blood, he lost any incentive to open them-especially his right eye. As much Gilbert wanted to crack an eye open, he found no strength to do so. 'At least…I'll die with my soul intact, eh?' he smiled, the faint curve of his lips barely noticeable in the sea of purple and red on his pale face. Truth was, what Gilbert feared after all the wars he had been in was to have his soul devoured and body used as a mindless tool to spread famine and plague.

Come to think of it, he could not imagine anyone who would want to use his humiliated body to do so now.

"Well. What have we here, a dying man whose original dreams have not been fulfilled yet…?Why cling on when you can trade them for three wishes that can be fulfilled with a few words?" A voice purred in the albino's ear, soft and sweet like a lover.

'What joy. Instead of a wraith, a worse dämon comes for my soul.' Gilbert thought; gritting his teeth and with whatever small strength left inside him,"If you are here for my soul…" he spat,"you will have to fight for it, pathetic scum of hölle."

There was silence, then a harsh, guttural scraping like that of metal against rough rock reverberated through the small cell; the creature was laughing, enjoying its game with the half-dead prey before it."Pathetic?I think you need a good look at yourself,"it sneered, scorn dripping off its voice like honey off a stick. "Even now you try to resist me-I can grant you everything that you desire; restore you to power and might, all you have to do is…give to me your original dreams…"The being stroked Gilbert's cheek, a gesture meant to show closeness now only came off as possessive in this situation.

Long, thin fibres branched out from the albino's bruised and broken hands, twisting and writhing with a life of their own like snakes coiled and ready to strike at any moment.

"Never…I refuse to sell away my dreams."

Mark deserved better; Gerwig deserved better…than a brother who would submit so easily without a fight. Cracking open his good eye successfully, Gilbert snarled at the darkness before him-a fully evolved wraith stood there, in the guise of a sweet innocent child with honey-brown eyes and a mop of auburn hair. The child's face twisted into an upset expression, as if he had been denied his favourite toy or told that he was not going to have his favourite dish for dinner or anytime soon. "Very well," it giggled, all the harshness out of its voice,"I'll have to punish you for your rude conduct, then?Even the lowest of mortals know how to fear me."

Before the albino could protest or react, tendrils of black branched out from the corrupted being and wrapped themselves around him; encasing him in a sphere of negative emotions-hate, rage, jealousy, lust, greed…but most of all, fear. 'Its so cold…it wants to devour me whole…sympathising with these emotions will lead me to become one of them, but all these souls…why have they all become like this?!' Gilbert wondered, frozen as dark shadowy hands reached out towards him, attempting to tear him apart as he looked at them wide-eyed with terror. There was no light in this place-only pain, grief and the endless screams; screams for him to give up his soul and save them. His mind screamed at him to run, but his feet remained rooted and unable to move an inch. However, at that moment, the scene warped before his eyes; the hands had disappeared, so had the shrieks trying to force him into submission. Surrounding him were stairs; some of them crumbling, some of them stretching beyond his field of vision.

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"My,my…this is a rare sight…So, where are you trying to run and hide to?Seems like I have no choice but to chase you." licking its lips, the wraith stuck its hand into the sphere, wrapping its fingers around Gilbert's throat;"now, you die…" it whispered, a bright warm smile spread over its youthful face as its grip tightened around the pale neck.

Then, just as the wraith believed that Gilbert had succumbed; the sphere shattered, and an enraged, smooth hiss broke the air, "who…is the foolish vermin…who dares mess with my beloved master's soul?" The albino spoke, stepping out of the shell he was trapped in previously; as though his old injuries had no hold over him, he stood proud and tall; crimson eyes so deep they appeared black, they seared the wraith which cowered under the cold fire in them."I smite thee to the depths of Hell!"

When the albino finished his words, the threads which branched out from his hand started to converge into a long blade, and he strode towards the shaking 'child'. "I'm sure you recognise this; and your punishment that comes with it." Unsheathing the sword, a smirk graced Gilbert's lips as he cast a fierce glare.

A bout of hysterical laughter escaped the wraith's lips, pointing with an index finger, "THIS IS NOT THE END! YOU WILL FALL;FAILING TO UNITE THE FRAGMENTS-YOU KNOW THE CONSEQUENCES AND PROPHERCY FOLLOWING THE CURSE YOU BEAR WITH THOSE STAINED HANDS O-"

The being of darkness never finished its sentence; there was a quick flash and a spray of semi-congealed matter, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the ground."I know."The albino answered, "but…I will protect this child's soul, for he has a beautiful heart and soul."

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**A/N. Yay! The next Kapitel is up! Reviews are most welcome-Flames will be used to brand Gilbert(again) or possibly roast a character.(Although someone or several somebodies will be heading off to the land of Seele …)**

**Character's involved: The usual few. This time; guess who's Wilhelm.**


	5. Kapitel 4: The Pan or the Fire? (1)

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

**Kapitel 4: The Pan or the Fire? (Part I)**

_"Father, may I ask you something?" The young child whose hand was held by the reticent bishop asked, large eyes round with childish innocence and confusion. It was the day when he was allowed to return to the palace where he was born; for reasons he could not comprehend, he was brought up separately from his family. All he knew was that he was different-who else had black fibres erupting out of their hands when under severe emotional stress like he did? That and since Vater was busy, it only made sense for him to be sent to the church whilst his little brother was cared for by their mother._

_"Well, by asking me that you have already asked a question. However, do tell me what bothers you."_

_"Father, "The boy blinked, then reached up with his other hand, trying to gesture that he wanted to whisper into the bishop's ear. "Why must we die?"_

_Exhaling, the clergyman picked up the child and placed him on his shoulders, hands keeping a firm yet soft grip on the boy's ankles. It was an innocent question, and it deserved a fair answer. Besides, the boy would find out sooner or later as he lived in the hallowed sanctuary itself. "Every one of us; before being given the life of a human are asked this question by the Master of Heaven-'If you were to be granted the life of a human, what would be the three things you wish to fulfil in that time?' After you've completed your tasks, the Master calls your soul back home. Where you chose to either stay or return to this world in another life."_

_The small child tensed; small fingers fisted in the soft locks of gold, "will you die one day too, Father? When your dreams have been completed?" he asked, a slight tremor of fear in his small voice._

_Father Friedrich tilted his head, and with a warm, reassuring smile as his water-blue eyes sparkled with kindness; "which is why…in the limited time that we have together, I will love and cherish you in my heart."_

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**Father…why are you so sad? Please don't cry! Did I do something wrong?**

_**"Gilbert, I need you to stay calm and quiet alright?"**_

**Why are there screams all over the place? What is going on?**

**"I know that you are frightened…and many things are about to change. But…"**

…**Father…Bitte…what is wrong! Wait…this spreading pool …what is this that-?**

**"Know that I love you. Always…"**

**Bitte, Father, bitte…please tell me-what happened-your eyes…they were never this **_**blank...**_

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The first rays of the sun broke through the clouds; red against a murky grey that was close to black, it was the day where blood was to be spilled. People of all age flooded to the execution square; some of them spilling tears, some were laughing and cheering, some of them impassive. "The prince is to be executed!" "Good riddance to a demon like him!" "Have you heard? He still has yet to confess!" Whispers of the sort were spoken in hushed tones as curious and hard eyes filled the area.

Seated at the center was Wilhelm; the steeled grey eyes of his had a merciless and triumphant light as he watched the prison guards haul up the bruised and battered form of Gilbert. Next to him was Gerwig, whose cerulean hues held no emotion at all. Although, if one looked close enough; Gerwig was in silent grief, his normally straight-backed posture was a little more slumped, shoulders down and heavy. To those who noticed it, brushed the minor detail off as him feeling betrayal and shock; for the one who was to be executed for murder was his own twin.

However, few took note of the mysterious man in the throng-wearing a hood, a rare smile on his face, he watched unflinchingly with blue eyes as the executioner's bright blade of justice was raised; the light of the sun caught by the metal, there was a quick flash as it swung down towards the hapless albino's neck-

And instead of bright blood like the shade of prisoner's eyes, porcelain fragments crashed to the ground, the sound accusatory and mocking as they clattered.

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A grunt escaped Gilbert's lips as light entered his eyes; the intensity was not blinding, but enough to make him narrow them to small slits. He frowned when he felt soft, warm sheets against his skin. 'Where am I? Is this heaven?' The albino wondered, before remembering that people with stained hands like his never entered the gates of Seele but instead plunged to the abyss for all the lives they had ripped away. His mind was hazy; the familiar sensation of being afloat from being in a trance induced by a healer to speed up convalescence.

At a quick glance, the room he was in seemed like a humble house for an ordinary peasant; furnished austerely, most of the furniture was simple in design, more for function than comfort. The albino blinked and placed a hand to his forehead, wondering how did the torture cell end up having luxuries known as a bed and fresh, clean walls. 'Where in Himmel am I…? Why can't I remember anything that happened from the prison to how I wound up here…" He wondered aloud, and was shocked at how thin and weak his voice was—sure he expected that his throat would be sore with all the screams that had escaped against his will, but he sounded as if sandpaper had been encased in his throat.

Before he could ponder further, there was a creak and Gilbert turned his head sharply, only to have a grimace cross his face as the action caused a stab of pain to bloom at the back of his skull. Whilst most of his physical wounds had been healed, it appeared that any form of strenuous movement would cause a relapse; elemental healing did have its limits after all, even if it sped up recuperation, sleep and a lot of rest was needed before one could return to his/her daily life.

"I see you're awake, my lord."

Gilbert blinked, a frown twisted the albino's face and with his scarlet eyes that were hazed with sleep but still as perceptive as ever, "Markus…you should go; what if—"

The steward held up a hand, "try not to talk too much, you were in a fairly…unawesome state when you treatment. Furthermore, overexertion is the last thing either of us needs now. The most important thing is that you take this time to rest as much as possible." Flashing a warm smile, gentle watery blue met red and an unspoken message of gratitude passed between them. Then, with a curt bow, the black-clad servant strode towards the albino as the latters eyes slid shut and body relaxed against the sheets. "To me…" Markus began softly, holding a cold hand that had been wrapped with bandages that stopped short of Gilbert's fingertips, "you are my only Prince whom I will serve and pledge my allegiance to."

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_In an age and time so long ago, in a distant land so similar and yet so different to our own—a kingdom that had ruled peacefully for over a millennium…now remains only in memory, a figment of an illusion that only a few remembered the days when tranquility and harmony existed just as the sun would always rise from the east. _

_Many had believed that the fragile, thin, veil of peace and calm would prevail in spite of the terrible events and strange turns of fate; the kingdom had not been in any major conflict with its neighbours nor had it suffered any famine or plague in recent years—in fact, what destroyed the monotony was a rebellion. Dissent had been brewing over some time within the carefully built structure of society; led by a group of revolutionaries, and with the changed leadership of the military, it was not long before the flames of war found its way into the kingdom's heart. _

_Everyone was dead; at least, that was what was written in the records—the entire line of monarchs had been erased, killed by the leader of the rebels in a series of assassinations and purges. _

_And so, came a new dawn—a turbulent era founded on spilt blood and chaos._

_It was an end, and the birth of a new point of history for the once proud, ancient kingdom._

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_Several years later_

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Gilbert stood before the small, alabaster cenotaph he had erected for two people dear to him several years ago—almost half a decade ago; namely Markus and Gerwig. "Hey…it has been some time since I came to visit." The albino murmured, placing a hand on the smooth surface of the reflective, white stone surface. "I'm sorry I couldn't come…more people arrive each day and I can only do so much to help them integrate into country life—farming or anything along the line of self-sufficiency…" A smile, more sad than happy wormed its way to his lips as he pressed his forehead to the stone, the surface cool to his skin.

Even though so much time had passed since their passing, Gilbert had never forgotten or allowed himself to move on; how could he, especially after Markus had given up his life to save him? Granted, Markus had died with a smile at the execution grounds; Gilbert had been there, helpless to do anything as he stood amongst the peasants, crimson eyes and mouth wide with horror. He had just recovered from the numerous wounds he had at the house where his aide had snuck him to the night before the albino's supposed death day, leaving him with a medic who was a trusted friend of his.

However, when the blade sliced through its victim—the servant's body disappeared in a flash of silver feathers once his head fell to the ground—leaving behind a pile of empty bloodstained clothes.

Markus had fulfilled all of his original dreams.

For Gerwig; according to what he had heard so far, the blond had died in a similar fashion—there was an accident involving a drunken carriage driver and Gerwig's carriage, which had been on its way to the annual conference held by the kingdom and a neighbouring nation's envoy. The difference was, instead of disappearing into silver feathers, Gerwig had evaporated into the air, leaving behind a string of words written in the ancient language of the scriptures formed by his blood on the smashed wreckage.

"**Some day, all of us will have to answer for our sins."**

It was an irony; the revolutionaries failed to succeed and a power vacuum resulted in various warlords contending for power: an endless cycle of bloodshed and chaos, which had been raging across the land.

With a sigh of finality, the albino stood up and got ready to leave; once night fell, it would be almost impossible to navigate his way through the dense forested area, and he had no wish to encounter the wild creatures of the dark or the wraiths which often lurked. Ever since he left, those dark creatures had become rampant—it was with

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Dawn shed the faint rays of the young day to the land, bathing the area in soft gold light. Everything appeared calm and halcyon on the surface; people went about the simple monotony of their lives, happy that in spite of the madness that had engulfed the land, there was a still a sanctuary for respite from the cruelty outside. However, what they did not know was that the sleeping genius who had brought them this was about to leave and undertake a journey—saddled on horses and donning on dark cloaks, four very different people entered into the dense forest that bordered the refuge.

"So I assume that this is where our man is? For a guy of his reputation I'd thought he'd… why do we have to find him anyway?" A loud voice broke the silent, calm air where three others dressed similarly to him dismounted from their steeds—for some reason, the beasts of burden had refused to move any further, and they still had to cross a stretch of woodland before they could reach their desired destination. Of sturdy build and wearing the gear of a paladin guard, the man that had spoken had clear and bright sky blue eyes and sandy hair, with a face that had a boyish charm to it.

"Quiet." Came the smooth albeit stern voice of one of his companions—it came from a healer, whose emerald green orbs burned with a quite warm flame, but behind his peaceful mien, had a undercurrent of raw power. " As the chosen representatives of our respective regions, our heads have requested for us to find him. Besides, we all want to see order restored; I am sick of the bloodshed that only increases each day, ever since the Northern Faction turned its sights to the Western regions, you cannot deny that the fighting has escalated. Before long, they will turn to the Eastern lands which has united together in an alliance to try and stay as neutral as possible in this conflict."

"Forget it and save us the long lecture Arthur; we all know that whatever you say, Alfred will listen for three seconds and that's it. Besides, aren't you two tired of arguing?" Raising an eyebrow, the only female member of the team glared at the paladin and the medic behind her. She had been listening to the duo behind her bicker for hours, and it was beginning to grate on her nerves. For most part, she wanted to hit their heads with a large, heavy object; at least the force would knock some sense into them (or more rather, knock them out cold), giving her peace. Sadly, the person wielding a long staff was the tall, platinum haired ranger beside her and not her.

Tall was an understatement; he towered over the group, and the creepy childish smile on his face never left even as he spoke, his voice laced with a sharp edge behind the deceptively sweet voice. "Maybe the three of you would like to talk to my staff, da? The few of you have been making a lot of noise, da?" The violet hues of his eyes gleamed with a mild, dangerous light and the faint curve of his lips did nothing to calm the tension in the air as they made their long trek.

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If there was anything Gilbert hated the most after his peaceful time in seclusion, it was entertaining travellers. Much less four travellers—which unfortunately stood at his gate at the moment. What made matters worse was that the four of them had been waiting since the crack of dawn, and it was mid afternoon already.

An archer of the of Ostewaldsch lands, a Healer from the Sicherheits mountain regions, a fiery tempered rogue paladin guard and a Forsetyrill Ranger.

Not once in his entire life would Gilbert have imagined that such a 'merry' band of travellers would be standing at his front door. Or whatever was left of it; the paladin had smashed it off its hinges in a fit of pique and impatience when there had been no response to the "HERO'S" call to duty. The albino had just woken up—he had only reached the simple thatched house he called home in the early hours of the day previous. All Gilbert remembered before black overtook his vision was kicking his boots free from his aching feet and curling up against the wooden flooring once his back made contact with the solid surface. However, he was not upset about his damaged door…oh no, for the culprit who had caused the destruction was currently dangling by his right foot on the rafters of the ceiling; he had sprung a trap and soon found out that puppets; life-like ones, were extremely protective of their creator and master.

His head tilted upwards, Gilbert's face pulled into a frown as his deep red eyes met a pair of bright and furious sky blue. "I must say…what do I owe the displeasure of your company that my house had to suffer…his wrath? My friends do not appreciated unnecessary violence as you can see up there…" The albino arched a pale eyebrow, his arms folded across his chest. "First and foremost, people do not wreck other's property. Next, one does not simply barge in without prior notice. Last of all, and most important…" The albino growled, his frown melting into a fierce glare of a parent at his limit,

"**One does not interrupt the sleep of others—especially when the other party just came back from a tiring journey."**

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**A/N. Sorry the Kapitel took much longer than the others to update. . School work and art assignments have been taking quite a toll*cries in corner* that and some family issues cropped up…but its ok now. Thank you for your continuous support and leave a review! Flames will be used to roast Alfred for breaking down Gilbert's door. XD**

**And this is disappointing…why hasn't anyone tried to guess who Wilhelm is? He's a very, very, **_**very**_** special character. *****Pouts***** Kesesesesesesesesese. **


	6. Kapitel 5:The Pan or the Fire (2)

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

**Kapitel 5: The Pan or the Fire? (Part II)**

_Gilbert squirmed in the arms that held him; the small albino wanted very much to walk by himself and get out of the warmth that enveloped him like a cocoon. Looking up at the person who was carrying him with large crimson eyes, the child felt himself frown when he saw the man's face. The man's features were familiar, yet at the same time, so foreign to his mind—like a dream of a past life, or a falsely created memory, he could not remember who was the man that was carrying him at the present moment._

_Licking his lips, Gilbert was about to ask the man who he was when the elder looked down; he had a pained and worried expression, but all of them faded away when those grey-blue eyes met bright red. The knife thin line melted into a warm and relieved smile whilst liquid fire dripped from the clear, kind orbs of watery hue, leaving transparent tracks across the pale cheeks they ran along._

"_Gott sei dank…Gott sei dank…Gott sei dank…Gilbert…Es tut mir leid…Gilbert…"_

_The child blinked, unable to comprehend why was the grown man sobbing and holding on to him like a lifeline. That and why was the man apologizing? Wait, how did the man know his name? Questions burned in his mind as the elder continued to hold him in a tight yet gentle embrace; a similar scene like the one at present surfaced in his mind—an embrace that seeped the caring glow and warmth of love and family into his entire being, also from an elder akin to the present. The difference was, there were no tears or wracking sobs; just the smile of an angel and a simple sentence._

"_You are my treasure, Gilbert."_

_Before he could stop himself, the albino felt needles prick his eyes and his body shake as his breath was caught in his throat. Small fingers twisting themselves into the white cassock-like robes, Gilbert shuddered and buried his face into the fabric—why couldn't he remember? This man…he knew this man—_

"…_All is fine now…Father's here. Father Fritz is here…"_

_Stiffening involuntarily, Gilbert's eyes went wide and he began to cry in earnest, memories, images of his past began to flood his mind; as if a dam that had been holding them back had been broken. How could he even forget—the bishop who had brought him up in the church before he was returned to his family about a year ago?_

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**Father…why is this all happening to me? Is it because of my appearance? It's so dark here…so cold… my back...it hurts…Father…where are you?**

**Ah…this pain…Father, make it stop! Please! Father…**

**What is this shadow…why is it after me? Father! Hilfe mir!**

"**Forgive me…King Aldaric. But tonight's vessel is truly magnificent—with such a pure soul, surely…it is the one who will revive the Master of Heavens greatest creation."**

**Fa…Father…why... what is that shadow that wants to devour me whole? Someone –BITTE! HILFE!...**

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Elizaveta bit back a rude epithet that hung at the tip of her tongue; like what Arthur had constantly stressed to Alfred, they were here to persuade someone to join them on their journey. Not let their temper get the better of them and throw away a possible chance at reuniting the war torn land. Besides, the archer really wanted to know how was it that a doll; a non-sentient being without a soul, could have deceived them into thinking that it was a real human. If the brash, hotheaded paladin did not smash it, she would not have known that it was a puppet. Even Ivan, the impassive tall Forsetyrill ranger who mostly showed no emotion other than a childish smile had displayed a quick flash of shock at the sight.

Allowing a small smile to spread across her lips, she crossed her right hand to her left shoulder and bowed her head; the traditional greeting of her home, "I apologise for the intrusion and the damage caused by my brother in arms—Alfred often behaves rashly. May we meet the Master of this House?" Elizaveta inquired, standing straight and tall to look the man in the eye—in which the hood the man was wearing prevented the action from being of much use.

"Kesesesesese…" A cackle, not entirely evil or friendly, rent the still air, "and may I ask this then, Archer. If you aren't talking to the Master of this House…who are you talking to then?"

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Gilbert shook his head and suppressed the urge to laugh even more; eyes narrowed in mirth, he would have suffered a rather nasty blow to his head had his instincts honed from years of being in war kicked in—leaping over the looming figure which had lunged towards him, the albino landed on his feet behind the remaining two travellers.

"Too slow." He mocked, flashing a wicked grin towards the stunned visitors from beneath his hood. The albino observed the violet-eyed stranger from where he was with a critical eye; Gilbert suspected that the situation was not going to be solved so easily now—at least not by words alone. 'What on earth do these people want from me?' He wondered, eyes narrowed and all the muscle in his body tensed as if waiting or preparing for a move.

Dread seeped in once he realized his suspicions were true; the Forsetyrill ranger directed a dark yet at the same time sweet and child-like glance at him, a look so similar to the evolved wraith he had defeated an age ago in the prison he had been held in, it took all his will to not shudder at the sight. "You will come with us, da? Or we can force you out of here—either way, you will follow us…unless you rather talk to my staff. Its very convincing, da?"

The corners of his lips pulled back in a snarl, Gilbert drew out an elegant long sword that had been hidden in the folds of his cloak and answered the ranger, though the tone of his voice made it clear that he was addressing the others as well. "This is my home, you have no right. Furthermore," he added, a bright gleam in his crimson eyes, "it would be my pleasure to duel you Ivan Braginski. You are quite a figure amongst the Rangers and High Mages in the Eastern lands." There was a shimmer of unease in the air, and Gilbert relished the stunned expressions on their faces; it was not that difficult to figure out the ranger's identity, his staff had been a giveaway…

Only rangers from the Eastern lands carried staves.

There was only one staff that had the writings of Forset on its surface, and it belonged to the Holy House following Ruerkhan's teachings.

Finally, Gilbert had heard of the ranger in his time here—who wouldn't when the man had slaughtered a group of armed rebels with just his bare hands, all by himself?

With those few pieces of information, it was child's play to see the link and deduce who it was. After all, half a decade of seclusion did give one a lot of time to think and find out whatever was going on in an era of mindless bloodshed.

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Ivan felt his facial muscles twitch a little when the cloaked figure said his name—it was unnerving how someone knew him when he had little knowledge of the other. The ranger found it terribly rude and unsettling—he hated secrets with a passion. If one knew something, but deliberately withheld information, it could lead to serious consequences…especially when in a group or team. "Since you know who I am, what is yours then, little one?" The fair-haired man asked, jumping over to where their mysterious target was.

"Kesesesesese. Only if you win this match."

There was a brief flurry of activity in front of Ivan's eyes as he swung his staff, the top end of it aimed at the figure's torso, expecting the man to buckle and fall to his knees from the force of it…

But there was the shattering of porcelain, and white fragments crashed to the dirt ground harmlessly.

Now, Ivan was convinced that the man had to be taught a lesson—never mind that they were to persuade him to join their cause; it was obvious that the recluse had no wish to leave. If he had co-operated, none of this would have to happen, that and the he said a duel, meaning between two. Not the involvement of another being, animate or inanimate. That and this was _cheating_, the puppet master or whoever he was, was _toying _with all of them and Ivan felt a dark stab of rage grow as more pieces of clay rained down with each blow and strike he made.

"Tsk…I think you'll need to do better than that," the puppeteer muttered, his voice coming from behind and so close to him that Ivan could feel the man's breath on his neck.

Twisting his body to the side, Ivan flicked his wrist; his eyes were glowing ominously, the childish smile never left his face, not once in the fight. He would be the one who would break his stubborn opponent, break that streak of insolence and bring him to his knees. There was a clang where metal met metal, and Ivan spotted a bright feral of teeth in the shadow of the hood along with a pair of sanguine, blood-coloured eyes.

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Gilbert's vivid red looked into violet and he could see the range of emotions within the sea of purple. There was anger; there was a desire to win this duel, but most of all, a kind of fierce madness that spoke of forcing another into submission. 'I wonder what did he go through to earn that sort of light…' Gilbert mused, breaking away from the momentary gaze in order to deflect an arrow that would have torn his hood and revealed his face.

He had almost forgotten about the archer.

Growling, the albino directed a glare towards the bowman, after he pushed the ranger off with his sword. "I wonder what has happened to the honor that people of the woodlands were renowned for?" Gilbert frowned, melting from were he was like an elusive shadow and reappearing behind the brunette, where her shadow was. A smirk found its way to his lips and Gilbert parried away the wicked-looking hunting knives that now replaced a bow and a quiver of arrows.

Crimson eyes narrowed in frustration when Gilbert realized that the archer was quite a handful despite not using her main weapon of choice. Releasing a sigh, he knew that he had to end this fight soon—as loathe as he was to admit, the albino was feeling exhausted from having to fight two fronts; the ranger at first and now the archer as well.

'I'll have to end this fight soon...I can't keep this up.'

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Elizaveta was beyond furious and was close to the point of murdering the insufferable man she had been tasked to bring out of seclusion. She fought her opponent with all her strength and determination, no longer caring that her job was to bring the man to her leaders without a scratch. "HA!" She exclaimed triumphantly; one of her hunting knives had managed to slice off a corner of the puppet master's cloak. However, in that brief moment, the man had faded into the shadows and before anyone could say anything, there was the sound of a gate being closed and the very unhappy form of a bound Alfred on the dirt ground. The puppeteer had disappeared like a phantom, gone without any trace save for the scrap of cloth the brunette had sliced off. Drawing her bow, she let loose an arrow to the gates; only to see it splinter against an invisible barrier.

'Wonderful. He can manipulate dolls and his skill in shadow hopping is almost on an equal level as Arthur's evaporation techniques…' the Archer groaned inwardly, fuming to herself at having lost her target. She turned to face the other three; Arthur was on one of his long lectures to a writhing Alfred, the latter obviously not having much luck freeing himself from the black fibres restraining him. Ivan was an effigy carved in stone, watching the healer and paladin guard—bemusement dancing in his eyes with the signature curve of his lips on his face.

Then, Ivan shifted his gaze and his pale purple orbs looked into hers; the amethyst seemed to search deep into forest green, threatening to suffocate and drown her. "Don't worry so much, da? I am confident that the, little one will soon see things our way." The ranger's smile widened, and for a moment Elizaveta felt a shiver run down her spine as she felt an evil aura radiate from the tall male.

She had to succeed; for the peace of the land, the people who suffered despite being innocent civilians in a time of chaos and for her home in the Eastlands.

But most of all…

Her duty as the successor to the Holy House of Eretyrinn.

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**A/N.:The next kapitel is up and running! Kesesesesesesese…I hope that you have enjoyed it and do leave a review after reading it! Forgive me if I wrote Russia out of character. T…T I stink at writing Ivan. In any case... *smirks* For those who have not read the notice on my profile page; I'll be changing my pen name-due to some personal reasons, if you wish to know why, drop a PM and I'll answer it. **

**Don't forget to favourite or follow this! Spam and flames will be used to fuel the mini-campfire the four hapless travellers will be lighting in a while. Kesesesese**

**Signing off for the last time as Königsberg,**

**Auf Wiedersehen.**

**Characters involved (due to misunderstandings that have appeared after I stopped posting the list):****  
**

**Elizaveta (Hungary), Ivan (Russia), Arthur (England), Alfred (America), Gilbert (Prussia)**

**Characters which are no longer alive (yes I'm being honest and blunt here):**

**Gerwig (HRE), Markus/'Mark' (Brandenburg), *Friedrich/'Father Fritz' (Friedrich II), King Aldaric (Germania)**

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**And so far… Poor Wilhelm…Nobody has figured out who he is yet. Kesesesesese...**

***Old Fritz only appears in Gilbert's dreams and memories.**


	7. Kapitel 6: The Pan or the Fire? (3)

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

**Kapitel 6: The Pan or the Fire? (Part III)**

_Standing before a gargantuan, bronze-casted statue that towered over the young boy's small body like a parent ready to discipline a disobedient child; wide crimson eyes traced the tall metal with awe and curiosity, taking in the features of the effigy hungrily. Gilbert was in one of the six towers dedicated to the four heavenly guardians and two seals of Serach. Made by the metal workers of the famed Feuerschehel forges; the sculpture appeared more alive than inanimate—such was the skill of the Northern clans under the Holy House of Allrifea._

_Bright crimson eyes were widened with curiosity and slight awe as they ran over the towering metal; it was a man, yet it radiated an unnatural air authority and power, which suggested otherwise. Bearing a solemn face with well defined aquiline features looked impassively to the distance; it had a strong, firm gaze that bore an air of calm and power in spite of its unseeing eyes. It was an archer; frozen in the position of drawing its bow—in one hand was a long bow, unadorned save for the runic crest marking of Forest engraved on its two tapered ends. The quiver attached to its back was empty of arrows however; the arrow the other hand was holding was its last._

"_Father, who is that scary looking person?" Gilbert asked, pointing a small finger at the statue. He turned to look at Father Friedrich, the quiet cleric standing next to him like a protective guardian angel, ready to protect him in a moments notice._

_Clear eyes looking down at wine red ones, "that is the Guardian Eretyrinn; he watches over the Forests and the Holy House in Ostewaldsch is under his charge." The bishop knelt down and smiled, ruffling the child's hair. "You would have heard of Eretyrinn before; there is mention of him in the tomes…don't you remember the story of Serach?"_

_The young child nodded and looked down, face furrowed in an expression of confusion._

_Friedrich wondered if he should ask what was bothering the toddler, or let the child ask when he felt ready to voice his concerns. In the end, the child looked up, eyes bright with innocence, "Father…the six Holy Houses…I don't understand; why six when there are only four Guardians mentioned?"_

_To that, the bishop paused before giving an answer—it was a good question, and it deserved a good answer; this was why he had been assigned to watch over the young prince, the patience needed to satisfy the youth's curiosity was overwhelming at times. "Four Guardians;__ Eretyrinn, Arkyünn, Allrifea, and Ruerkhan—four Holy Houses. Two seals which split Serach's form from his soul and scythe, the remaining two houses."_

_Gilbert nodded, his inquisitive nature sated from the answer he received from the elder. Allowing his small hand to be taken by the cleric, he gave one last glance at the statue before leaving the tower. A small smile formed on his lips and he whispered, "Someday, I'll come by and visit again."_

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"**What have you done?!"**

**F…Father? Is that…you? These pair of warm arms holding me…they are yours, right? Father?**

"**I have done nothing, return that child to me."**

"**Do you not know the consequences of what you have done?! You have not only violated the laws we are bound to, but this goes against what the Master of Heaven has decreed!"**

…**F…Fa…Father…what…ha…ppened…? Why…do you…sound so…angry?**

"**No matter. I'm afraid that you have to die, Heiterichtend."**

**Fa…Father…!**

"…**MARK MY WORDS, FRIEDRICH! THAT SOUL IS BEYOND REDEMPTION!"**

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If night was a thief, it had stealthily crept into a room lit by a torch and doused the small fire giving off light; shrouding the magnificent expanse of the sky a deep blackish blue. Shadows danced in the dark, like small children playing in the day on the ground. The thought was supposed to be cheerful—heartwarming even. But for Arthur, it brought back memories of a day he would rather forget. His brilliant, emerald eyes gazed at the flickering campfire they had started in view of another cold night like the previous few the four of them had spent. Across where he was seated were the others; Elizaveta attempting to cut the fine, black fibres binding Alfred, Ivan with a rare furrow in his brow—holding his signature staff with one hand and reciting something in an old dialect from a book held in the other.

Opening his mouth, the healer asked a question he knew that would result in two death glares and a pout directed his way; but he had to ask—this was taking too much time, something they did not have. "Why can we not just ask in a civilized manner, for our puppet master to help?" The medic sighed, rubbing his temples with the ball of his left palm.

Just as he had expected, the moment the query left his lips, the archer and ranger sent him withering looks that would have made a plant curl and shrivel up. It probably did not help that the grass within a one-meter radius of Ivan's feet were a sickly yellow and brown. That and his dark gaze had returned, the same one he had earlier during the duel. Releasing a long sigh of frustration and exasperation, the medic kept his more negative emotions to himself and tried to think of happier times—no need to get himself riled up for no reason. After all, someone had to keep a cool head.

"Bassza meg! I've had enough of this!" The longhaired brunette raged, her breath seething through her teeth. Arthur watched as she stalked towards the sealed broken gates, her bow and quiver placed on the ground next to her folded cloak. "That puppeteer might have blocked the entrance, but that doesn't mean that he has the fences under a protective ward." She grumbled; drawing out her two hunting knives, she began to scale the wooden fence.

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Gilbert had just finished his simple supper when he wondered if he should have been more hospitable and invited those four hapless travellers inside for a meal; they must have had a long and exhausting journey—to have crossed mountain passes and countless ravines, just to reach this sanctuary—the albino began to feel that he had been too harsh on the small band. 'I suppose inviting them in for the night would be fine…it can get horribly cold outside…'

After donning on his cloak and pulling the hood over his head, Gilbert walked to the gates, only to be stopped by a sharp crash—someone was in this house. The albino contemplated going after the noise and in the end, decided that it was unnecessary on finding out that it was just the archer he had exchanged blows with earlier in the day; the usefulness of having puppets around the house, one did not have to personally go and survey issues around the place all the time. However, he left two sentinel puppets to roam around; on a whim really, to see how skilled was this archer against his puppets. The brunette was from the House of Ostewaldsch after all—surely, from what he had heard about the Archers trained in that region, she would be able to avoid being detected by them…and not have to smash them to fragments.

With a long sigh, he stopped short of unsealing the barrier he had cast and directed his gaze to the midnight blue canvas dotted with white. A small smile played on his lips, the quiet happy times of Gerwig and him as children lying on the grass watching the night sky together filled his mind and became a train of thought that made the small curve stretch wider. Then, a quiet voice; so soft, yet so real spoke from the reel of memories that the albino almost whipped his head to the side to see who was it that spoke.

"_Gilbert, what do you think stars are?"_

Said person suppressed a shiver and swallowed before taking a deep breath. This had been quite a common occurance as of late—sometimes, he would hear that same, fatherly, warm, benevolent and quiet voice in his dreams as he slept. However, he could never place his finger on who was the speaker, or think of anyone he had encountered in his life with such a voice. Yet, somewhere in his mind, he had _heard_ this voice before; in a distant time and place that was now but a faded dream or an illusion to him. To say the least, it was driving Gilbert up the wall.

Exhaling, he broke the barricade using the black fibres that branched from his hands. "The night is going to be a cold one," he warned, ignoring the ranger's forbidding violet gaze. "Seeing that your leader has decided to scale the wall, I suggest that you all may as well come in." The albino was about to turn when he remembered the bound paladin. He was almost ready to leave the person as he was for the damage done to his house, but as Mark used be fond of saying, 'what has been done. Why hold on to meaningless grudges?' With a careless flick of his wrist, the black threads binding the paladin retracted and snaked their way back to Gilbert's palm in a ball.

"Well. Are you coming or not?" He questioned, head cocked to the left when he realized that the trio had yet to budge. The medic glanced at the other two and in the end, in spite of the paladin and the ranger having grudging expressions on their faces followed him in.

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It had taken quite a while to get the four travellers together into the dining area—the archer; which he now knew was called Elizaveta, had almost stayed out of range of the sentinel dolls successfully, at least, that was until the snap of a fallen twig betrayed her. The end result being: a long chase around the compound by two murderously devoted puppets. It was a gift really; her carelessness led to her running into Gilbert, who in turn disabled the puppets defensive psyche and at the same time she was reunited with her companions.

Now, the four ate the simple meal their host had prepared, the latter having gone to tidy up a space for the four new arrivals to rest for the night.

"I wonder," Alfred spoke in between bites of the bread he held in his hand, "why doesn't he ever lower that hood of his? What is it that he wants hidden away so badly?"

Concealed in the shadows and just outside the door; unbeknownst to the paladin and possibly the others as well, the albino listened in to the conversation he anticipated to take place in the next few minutes. He knew that such a question would be raised eventually—this was his house after all, why would anyone wear a cloak and draw a hood over their face? In their own house as well! 'If I showed my face right now,' Gilbert mused, a smirk creeping up his lips, 'what would you all do? I know the laws of this land too well; and particularly for the Eastlands, how many have been judged for having the same complexion and eye colour as mine?' He exhaled, ruby red hues reflecting the bored disinterest of a person who had seen and heard too much to be bothered.

Deciding that he had enough of hiding, he knocked on the doorpost and entered the room; joining the four weary guests he now had on his hands. "If you are all ready, I will show you to your sleeping area. I apologise that you will all have to squeeze into two rooms; my house was not meant to accommodate a large group."

"It's alright, we will manage somehow." The medic, Arthur replied, silencing whatever the paladin guard wanted to say with a simple glare that spoke a thousand words. "What about you? Do you not need to rest as well?" Unnatural, glimmering green eyes shone with mild concern, matching the tone of his voice.

Gilbert gave a shrug, "guests always come first. In any case, I will need to repair my friends and gates. Danke for asking, I appreciate the gesture of goodwill, Herr Kirkland." The albino murmured, walking towards the water jug at the side for a glass of water. He paused at the ranger's chair however, sensing an unfriendly aura surrounding the tall man. "Is something not to your liking, Herr Braginski?" he questioned, giving a querying gaze to the Forsetyrill ranger.

Ivan did not turn to meet the albino's gaze, but instead muttered in an eerily serene voice that would have made Gilbert feel sick had he never fought Shaddarin wraiths that spoke with a similar lit in their words. "Oh no, everything is fine, da? However, I think that it would be much more polite of you to remove your hood. After all, a host has to always take his guest's views into consideration, da?"

The former prince—now recluse looked at his guests, sky blue were curious and eager whilst brilliant green hues were somewhat piqued with interest. Violet ones bore into his as if trying to read his mind, even though the smile on their owner's face said otherwise. Forest green orbs watched him with the narrowed, guarded gaze of a hawk having sighted its prey. Gilbert exhaled slowly, his mind turning like the gears of a clock. "Well then, as the host—I choose to keep my face hidden till I decide to reveal it…consider it payment for the damages done to my house and property. Fair enough?" he quipped, his voice taking on an edge that Gilbert himself believed to have locked away.

An uneasy silence ensued whilst Gilbert drank; the air in the room suddenly felt thick and heavy—like as if a dark cloud bringing rain had filled the empty air. Then, "entschuldsdigung, I allowed my temper to get the better of me. If you please, I will let the puppets guide you to your rooms. I do not feel up to it." Striding off, Gilbert forced himself to not leak out any sign of fear; he could feel the collaborative stares of four pairs of eyes behind his back as he left, two of them—he was willing to bet, one belonging to Ivan and the other to Elizaveta—with an intensity that was enough to sear flesh like a brand.

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**A/N. Phew! I've finally updated this! Sorry for the long wait I've made you all go through. School, family, depression and writer's block decided to whack me in the head. I'd like to thank my dear friend Alaina Rayne for helping me, Duelkatana for always being there for this unawesome writer -/- (then again we study in the same school) Verfens; I've always admired your works on Prussia and the AWESOME PruHun stories you write. ;) The Winged Huntress, zoewinter1,Masterliful and MemoriesOfTheFlame for your reviews, they really kept me going and those readers out there—VIELEN DANK! Oh, Hutcchy as well; her stories are to die for, they are the best I've ever read and of course *****thanks Duelkatana for introducing them to me***** (Even though I swear, I will keep cracking jokes on getting hitched. Kesesesesesesesesesese)**

**Now…**

**Let's see if anyone spotted a 'pun' I placed in this Kapitel—granted it's a little unfair as it is a wordplay using German and English but…Do your best! Post your answer in the review and I'll mention who got it right in the next kapitel. Kesesesesesesesesesese. Did I mention that the person who gets it right is allowed to have a mini spoiler to the next few kapitels I have in mind? **

**Nein, Duelkatana—you're not allowed to take part in this game. It'll be cheating. Don't forget to fav or follow this! If you're interested, take part in the poll on my profile page! Until the next kapitel, auf wiedersehen! Ah, if you're a little confused by the sudden usage of terms like 'Eretyrinn' and all, go read the companion fic Verlassen.**


	8. Temporary notice

This isn't a chapter, but don't worry I'll take this down after I post the next.

In order to clear up any misunderstandings, I'll answer to a review which I find really helpful and don't worry. I thank you for being very honest and I appreciate it.

'With these hands of Mine' was a story that I had an idea from when I was very little and developed as I grew up-I come from a 'church' environment where my nursery and Kindergarten years were in a Church and later in Primary school, I was enrolled into a Catholic school. Hence my reference to Gilbert being raised in a church with a Father taking care of him. That and also when I wrote this, it was for therapy; I suffer from bouts of severe depression and admittedly, I do not have a very smooth relationship with my family. In particular my mother; a lot of the things that Gilbert and the others face are parallel to some events in my life. Not all of them very pleasant or I wish to disclose here in this post. I do however, admit that the characters I picked are due to my thoughts and interpretation of Hetalia characters.

For example, I interpret the character Prussia as a person who refuses to give up and still stands strong even after all the schieße he has gone through in life; my wish to be a strong person that can overcome any obstacle with a smile, being able to stand proud and tall despite the situation.(I'll admit that I have contemplated suicide several times and used to indulge fairly heavily in self-harm)

When I first wrote this piece, it was meant to be a story for my portfolio. I didn't know about Hetalia then, and yes: in the prologue and a bit of the first kapitel; my diaries which I wrote were often read by my mother, and sometimes it has led to a lot of tension and unhappiness between the two of us. I've never been one to share my feelings opennly or tell people what is on my mind. Then my friend, DuelKatana introduced me to Hetalia and I showed her my horrible writing.

It was her that encouraged me to turn it into a fanfic(which I have) and if you notice her reviews, she has always mentioned 'an original'. She refers to the story I wrote and showed her. That and I never knew anything about 07-Ghost when I came up with this plot bunny, until quite a while ago when a friend of mine introduced it to me. (Yes. I had a face similar to Prussia's from that notorious ep in the World Series. I don't know a lot of Manga and animes...)

I hope that this will clear up any misunderstanding and thank you all for reading. Please do not hesitate to PM me if you have any queries. I'll be happy to answer them.

Until then, auf wiedersehen.


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